221B Domestic Drabbles
by thedaringkurtsie
Summary: A collection of 221B drabbles, featuring a domestic theme. All kinds of cutesy fluffy shizz. #8: Board.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N:_Finally! I have finally delved into a new fandom, Fanfiction-wise! I'm glad I got this out actually, I've been wanting to write some Sherlock stuff for _ages_ and now I have! even if it is only a widdle 221B drabble. I kind of have a thing for domestic!Sherlock, so writing this was A LOT of fun. And also frustrating. 221 words is such a particular amount! and not nearly enough to express all my ravings. **

**I take my hat off to people who manage to write regular 221B's. Not nearly as easy as it seems. Anyway, on with the drabble:**

_**Breakfast.**_

John had been ill.

Or, at least, that was Sherlock's reasoning, as he burst through the door into John's room, at around 8.00 am, covered sporadically in flour, jam, milk, butter, sugar, cream, and god only knew what else; with a wonky apron tied around his waist, and a tray full of singed pancakes, that had also managed to go a little green in places, and a glass overflowing with orange juice.

He had heard this was generally the done thing, when some one you knew was sick: You looked after them. He knew John felt the ridiculous need to eat at what he supposed normal people (Read: the less intellectually developed) deemed "regular" intervals, and so if looking after John involved cooking, Sherlock assumed he would just have to grin and bear it. The kitchen certainly looked worse for wear, though.

John raised himself on his elbows, from where he was wrapped up in his bed sheets, his nose a violent shade of red from the cold he'd contracted, that just didn't seem to want to leave.

He stared at Sherlock's disheveled state, and shuddered at the thought of what the kitchen must look like.

"Sherlock... What the hell is this?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly, as Sherlock shuffled his feet a little, and gave a disarmingly bashful smile.

"Breakfast?"

**_A/N:_ I really want to do more of these, actually. If you could let me know in the reviews whether I should continue these? My idea is to have a fic made up of various 221B drabbles, all with a domestic theme, because I think love this theme far to much to drop it now :} **

**Thank you!**

**xXx**


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_This actually finished quite nicely at 221 words on the dot, first time! Result! I hope this means I'm getting better at this. **

_Blanket._

"Got anything, yet?"

John paused, mid-stir of his tea, when he got no reply.

"Sherlock?" He walked out of the kitchen to where he had last seen the elusive detective, curled up on the sofa in his pajamas and prized blue dressing gown, a case file in his hands, and furious frown creasing his forehead.

He almost laughed at the sight of his flat mate as he walked in, and instantly quieted his movements. The case file was still hovering in his hands, but Sherlock's head was lolling forwards, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. John knew he'd been working himself into the ground with this case: it was a complicated one, and Sherlock had relished in the premise. But evidently the case was even harder than anticipated, and Sherlock's "No sleep until the case is over" rule had been the first defense to fall.

John looked up as Sherlock murmured something in his sleep, and frowned.

"I said to pass me the blanket, John." Sherlock articulated, his impatient tone still intact, even when half asleep.

John rolled his eyes and grabbed the material from the back of the sofa.

Sherlock gave a faint smile, and John thought he may have even heard a "thank you", as Sherlock fell into a proper sleep, wrapped up in the thin grey blanket.

**A/N: Drop a review? I love them.**

**xXx**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_You guys! I've not managed to reply to every review yet (the joys of A-level coursework…) but, I want you to know how flattered I was! Thank you! Your reviews all made my heart go whee. ("Like, super wheee!") and I hope you find this chapter super enjoyable too :}**

_Bandage_

"It's not serious, John."

John stopped examining Sherlock's arm and looked up the detective.

"It's a burn, Sherlock. Of course it's serious. Why didn't you bloody well run it under cold water? Or was that something else you've "deleted" ?"

Sherlock gave him a foul look from where he sat on the sofa, and turned his head away, as John went to get his first aid kit.

"Here." John took Sherlock's arm again, and placed a cool, wet flannel on the burn, tending wound. He let out a slight hiss of pain that he thought John hadn't noticed, and gritted his teeth.

"How did you do it?" John asked, still tending to his arm and deliberately trying to distract him from the pain. "Another one of your experiments?"

Sherlock went a little pink, and coughed uncomfortably.

"What was that?"

Sherlock shut his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"I was making tea, and I..." He coughed again slightly, and frowned "I may have managed to spill the kettle...On my arm."

John bit back his laughter, and pulled his next piece of equipment from the first aid box.

"Scotland yard are going to have a field day with this one." he snorted, shaking his head.

"It's not funny, John." Sherlock snapped.

John just smiled, as he dressed the wound, and smoothed down the bandage.

**_A/N_: I'm still loving your reviews :}**


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_ **I ****apologize ****for ****how ****unseasonably ****festive ****this ****is.****It****'****s **_**november**_**.****I ****need ****to ****get ****a ****grip. ****Also: ****I ****don****'****t ****know ****if ****I ****have ****any ****fellow ****Cabin ****Pressure ****fans ****amongst ****my ****readers ****(If ****not, ****WHY ****EVER ****THE ****HELL ****NOT?)****But ****did ****anyone ****else ****get ****a ****vibe ****of ****our ****good ****friend ****Martin ****Crieff ****from ****the ****last ****drabble? ****Upon ****re-reading ****it ****I ****kept ****thinking ****that ****it ****sounded ****increasingly ****like ****something ****Martin ****would ****do. Not that Martin would ever be making the tea/coffe. Thats Arthur's job.**

_Bauble_

Mrs Hudson stopped outside the door to Sherlock and John's apartment, her hand hovering on the door knob.

"A little higher, John. No, to the left."

"That is my left, Sherlock."

"Fine then, my left, stretch a little."

"It's your fault it's so bloody big!"

An impatient sigh. Sherlock's, she thought.

"Look, I'll do it myself, just pass me the-"

His voice was cut off as the door swung open under the landladies slight touch. Whatever Mr Hudson had expected to find, what she was actually met with was certainly the last thing she'd thought of.

Sherlock was stood near the fire, his hand reaching out around John's, as John leant upwards towards the christmas tree that must have been assembled seemingly overnight. Sherlock was wearing a red woolen jumper, with what seemed like a reindeer printed on the front. She idly wondered how John had managed to get him to wear it.

Two strings of silver tinsel had already been wrapped around the tree, and some red tinsel adorned the fire place, rising and falling in neat crests and troughs.

Sherlock gave her a wide manic smile she usually associated with the news of a new serial killer.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Hudson!"

He quickly took the decoration from John's hand, and smiled to himself, as he hung the last bauble.

**_A/N:_Can I just says how much of a horrible word Bauble is? Way to many vowels in one word, it played hell with my dsylexia. I think I must have managed to spell it 17 different ways at least before I gave up and googled it. **

**Your reviews are treasured more thank you could know! :D**

**Also: **

**Quend: I can't reply to your reviews, as you're on anon, but I want to say: Thank you! Your reviews are a real joy to read, and so kind. Thank you :} And I hope you had fun writing your drabble! I'd love to read it if it's on the internets somewhere.**


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N:_I'm sorry I haven't updated this sooner! I've been EXTREMELY busy getting all of my work out of the way before my play tonight, and so I haven't had any free periods to update in. C'est la vie. Anyway, I thank you for your eternal patience, and hope you don't hate me to much :)**

**p.s: Victoria sponge cake is the best kind of cake. If any one reading this is interested into how to get me to love them, use victoria sponge cake. Or invite me out for texting and scones. Which ever. Both work. Texting and scones more so, but, whatever. **

"Sherlock, just eat it."

John stared down at his flatmate forcefully, one hand still on the plate that held a single slice of victoria sponge cake.

"I'm not Mycroft, John. You can't trick me into eating something by offering me cake." He stared resolutely back up at the ceiling, carefully avoiding his gaze.

"Sherlock, come on. You can't eat nothing all week. It's getting ridiculous."

He snorted and raised his eyebrows.

"I can and I frequently do. So if you wouldn't mind, _Dr__Watson.__"_ Sherlock's tone dripped in venom, and his lips twitched slightly as John slammed the plate down beside him.

The sharp trill of John's phone next to him pulled Sherlock out of his proud silence, and caused him to glower at the "Caller Unknown" display, before answering.

"Not another lover's tiff, I hope?"

Sherlock made a non committal grunt at his misfortune and rolled his eyes.

"Mycroft."

"Do as he says, Sherlock. Mummy would be ever so disappointed to know her little darling isn't eating well."

Sherlock glared at the wall, in place of Mycroft's own form.

"You wouldn't dare." He murmured defiantly.

He heard Mycroft chuckle on the other end of the line.

"Oh, I would. Goodbye, Sherlock."

Sherlock flung the phone down angrily at the dial tone, before irritably picking up the cake, and taking a bite.

**_A/N_: I love reviews more than Mycroft loves cake. And you _know_that's deep. **


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:**_** It should really be noted that, in reality, I honest to god hate football. Sport in general, actually. Anyway, the point is, if I have muddled up any football jargon in this chapter, I apologise. **

**Sort of. **

**Not really.**

_**Book.**_

John was tilted forwards on the sofa, his body pointed towards the television, with his hands clasped under his chin in an unusually Sherlock-like stance. He leant closer, and mumbled more coherently, whenever whatever trivial thing was on become more heated.

Sherlock peered over the rim of his book at the screen.

Football.

He sighed loudly and turned back to his book on the study of criminology and the human mind.

"Problem, Sherlock?" John asked, his attention taken from the screen for mere moments before something caught his eye, and he became infinitely more involved again.

"It'll be a free kick. At that angle, however, he's likely to miss- I'd say just over the top bar of the goal. It'll most likely result in him being the next substitution, what with the current rate of injuries. I'd imagine the fans would be angry, so it'll be more than likely that the player he'll be swapped for will be- to some degree at least- more of a "token" player, to please the fans." He let out another heavy sigh as- true to form- the ball sailed over the top of the goal.

He raised a solitary eyebrow. "Predictable."

John stared at him for a moment.

"Can you at least refrain from deducing _football? _Please?"

Sherlock just smirked, and returned to his book.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**_** It's amazing what you can achieve with 3 free periods and an extensive X-Men First Class soundtrack. HERE'S ANOTHER CHAPTERRRR! :D Contains BIG spoilers for the Harry Potter series, so, sorry if that affects you! :) Enjoy!**

_**7) Box**_

Sherlock stared at the screen of the television as though it had inexplicably insulted his entire life's work.

"Well, of course he's a wizard!" He exclaimed, eyebrows furrowed. "A simple consideration of the unusually shaped scar and study of key events of wizarding history could have told him that. Is this really what passes for entertainment these days?"

He turned to John in askance, who shrugged in response and nodded back towards the TV, as though to tell him to keep watching.

The peace didn't last much longer, before Sherlock interrupted again. "The blond one- what's his name?" He demanded, turning to John.

"Malfoy." John replied automatically.

"Hmph. His deductions regarding the weasley boy's lineage were interesting. Completely opposite to what I would have done, but definitely interesting."

John merely rubbed his temples and returned his attention to the screen.

The rest of the film went by in relative silence, aside from a few exclamations of "Obvious!" or "trivial..." and a particularly memorable "For god's sakes! Just look at the shape of his turban! There is clearly something hidden there!"

John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock leapt up from the sofa towards the television.

"thoughts?" He asked, tiredly.

"Snape's in love with the potter boys mother, and he's working for Dumbledore. Simple."

John just sighed as Sherlock put the DVD back in the box.

_**A/N:**_** Reviews? :}**

**xXx**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8- Board.

"What do you mean, '_no' _?"

"I mean, 'no'. I can tell you right now, Sherlock, that the victim is not in that envelope."

Sherlock slammed his cards down and gave small growl.

"Don't be obtuse, John. Of course the victim did it. It's the only possible solution, given that he _was_ only person in the room at the time. He obviously used the rope to hang himself, seeing as that is the only way the door could have been locked from the inside."

John stared at him and pulled a card from his own deck.

"That would explain why I have the rope in my cards, would it?"

Sherlock looked at the card like it had suddenly become self aware, and slapped him across the face. He scrambled over the board and snatched the envelope from where it lay in the middle of the game, shaking the contents into his hand.

"Miss Scarlet, with the candle stick, in the- John, have you fixed this?"

"No! I kept telling you! The victim can't have done it! it's a _murder_ mystery, Sherlock! not a suicide one. I knew I shouldn't have played this game with you... But you just had to ask didn't you?"

Sherlock gave him another foul look before grabbing the game from where it lay, and placing it near the mantle piece, driving his knife angrily through the board.

_**A/N: Sorry I've not updated recently. Life's been a colossal whirlwind, and then some. I hope you're all enjoying the new series. I'm currently preparing my Den of Desolation, so that I can weep undisturbed after Reichenbach. Which will probably kill me. Either way, I hope you liked it! **_

_**Reviews are love!**_

_**xXx**_


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